They chased the woman away from the hilltop. A marking of stones made the hilltop different from the other slopes in Moontown.
She came from the woods, her hair deserving of jewels and her face as sad as a dying tulip.
She came once a year, despite the rocks and sticks brandished at her, risking it all to touch the stone marking before she fled.
On the single day the woman did not come, a demon rose. The sun witnessed the town crumble.
In a nearby field a sheep grazed. A wolf watched it; a guardian in another form.
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash.
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